


In free fall

by ThisGoldenAfternoon



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisGoldenAfternoon/pseuds/ThisGoldenAfternoon
Summary: Break's falling, Reim realizes, but in the most beautiful pattern.A look at Reim's thoughts and feelings throughout Retrace 30, while coming to terms with Kevin Legnard and the general mess that is Xerxes Break. Complete with a memory of days long gone by. Pre-established Reim x Break. Fluffy, laced with angst.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Pandora Hearts. All characters and plotlines belong to her holiness, Mochizuki-sama.  
> And still I had to put my admiration for Reim and how he dealt with Break's tragic past in words, though it resulted in unparalleled sappiness. If you don't want to risk getting cavities, turn away now. You have been warned!

“Hah... you don't need to tell me that...” the words come out barely a whisper. Defeated and done for.  
And then Break's lashes flutter closed. There is the tiniest of stumbles, while his neck arches sidewards, a pristine porcelain white and his swaying body is suddenly drained of any tension.

He' s falling, Reim realizes, but in the most beautiful pattern. As if in slow motion he witnesses every muscle in Break's body go limp, his mouth is slackening, the sad and ironic smile erased but his features still cling to the memory of pain and despair they held only seconds ago.

Vicious black lines taint the immaculate skin of his chest with an irrevocable reminder of a hidden past, tragic and disturbing, and now in plain view for any onlooker.

Break's form, though halfway doubled over, is still sinking backwards and maybe even in unconsciousness it is drawn towards the safety that is Reim's presence. Maybe it's always been this way, that their bodies gravitated around each other and their minds are only now beginning to understand.

But there is still this sting of betrayal, that keeps Reim from dashing forward, to secure, protect, and hold.  
It's not like he had expected Break to lay himself bare in front of him, but hell- they've known each other for fifteen years and Reim had always been confident that he'd seen the man at his lowest and brightest, but now he isn't too sure if what he'd caught glimpses at was more than a paper-thin, carefully elaborated charade.

Crushing insecurity makes him stare blankly ahead, while Break is gradually crumbling to the floor like he is suspended in quicksilver, all gracefully buckling limbs, pale strands obscuring his eyes.

Was Reim really trusted that little? Or had he just been too blind to realize the truth?  
Had Xerxes secretly been reaching out to him, wanting him desperately to realize the deep dark truth about himself?  
Should he have known?  
Should he have been told?  
Was he even allowed to assume, that his rightful place truly was by Break's side?  
Had Xerx' really wanted him to be his friend, his equal, would he have kept all those things from him?  
The weight of the years suddenly seems to pull him down. Years of being lied to, years of -god forbid it- being a mere pawn in the grand scheme of what ever it might be, that Break had set out to do. 

There is a sharp crack somewhere in front of his unseeing eyes when Break's weakened hand loses its grip on his cane and Reim's mind is starting to reel.  
The sound brings back a memory of a different day, one late in March, when the hares are said to be raging mad and the sun has made it higher above the horizon than since forever.

And suddenly Reim can smell daffodils. The barely warmed bark of an oak, where the frosts of winter still lingered, when you touched it long enough for your skin to drink in all the sunlight. Rich, sodden earth. And the sweetest touch of tea and vanilla.

 

He was sixteen by that time, but he still remembers it as clearly as his head now remembers the blow it had received earlier.

Sharon had kept a cat those days, a timid fluffy thing that used to stray away from the manor only to get scared by a shadow and seek shelter where ever it deemed suited. It usually took all the coaxing and prying Sharon was capable of, to lure it out of its hiding place, but on that day the kitten had chased a wisp of sunlight up to the higher branches of the oldest oak on the Rainsworth's estate.

Reim had spend the morning writing letters for both Lady Cheryl and Duke Barma and rain had drummed a constant staccato on his window pane, but the clouds were shifting restlessly outside and by afternoon a sun so dazzling and bright had broken through, his papers almost seemed aglow.  
Right when he took a small break to marvel at the sight, Sharon had stormed into his study, a charming little Lady at the early age of thirteen years but the tears staining her cheeks somewhat tarnished the impression.  
Her breath was hitching and her cheeks were reddened, hair coming loose from the elegant knot it had been styled in this morning.

“Reim-san! You need to help me!” She looked at him with pleading eyes, and Reim knew, whatever was to follow, be it “ You have to travel to the deepest core of Abyss!” or “You gotta tell Break, he won't be getting any sweets for the next two weeks!” he didn't have it in him to turn her down.  
And he was well aware, which option of the given he'd prefer.

Fortunately though, the following request was reasonable enough. “I can't find Mina and I fear she got lost somewhere in the gardens again! Will you help me look for her, please?” 

Suppressing a sigh Reim got to his feet. Surely the letters could wait, it wasn't like Lady Sheryl's answers would convey any joy or hope for Duke Barma, anyway.  
So out he went with a disheveled and worried Sharon in tow and they spent the better part of the afternoon wandering through the spacious grounds that made out the acreage of the Rainsworth's but to no success.

When the sun had already begun its steady descent towards the horizon and the glittering on the first daunting green of spring had turned a stunning gold, they both found themselves out of breath, with dirt staining the rims of their fine attire and stray branches sticking out of their hair, at the foot of the dignified oak that marked the deepest part of the gardens. Panting and light headed as he was, Reim leaned back, just to let air flood his lungs, and the cooling breeze soothe the heat rising in his cheeks.

It carried a whiff of early daffodils. Under his hands, the earth was still damp from all the rain, but emanated a scent of belonging that resonated with a secret spot deep in his bones. A scent one would always associate with home, even if worlds were to part you.

And it was in this fleeting moment of rest, that Reim looked up into the skies, where the barren branches of the oak had painted bizarre patterns, gouty fingers that reached for the sun though unable to secure its warmth, yet.

There, high above he spotted a hint of white fur, nearly obscured by the chaos of blackened bark and dead wood, the tiny body pressed flush against the enormous trunk, shivering.

“My Lady, I think I found her!” he breathed, in fear that the slightest sound would scare the little ball of fur ever further up the tree. “I'm trying to get her down now, so please just stay here and be ready to catch her, should she fall!”  
He knew he wasn't in the position to give orders to the Grand-daughter of the duchess, but he wouldn't put it past Sharon to follow him up the trunk, lest he made himself clear and gave her a solid purpose to stay where she was.

Reim remembered climbing that oak countless times as a kid, but never to such a height- and had his feet always found that little support in the cracks and crevices of the bark?  
Had the branches always gnarled like this when being strained with his weight?  
Probably not, but only a few feet above him Mina still clung on to the tree for dear life, so there was no way in hell, he'd abandon his task now.  
Sweat trickled down his neck and the muscles in his shoulders started to ache like overused cords, and still he strove higher, his mind set on finding a shake to hold on to, a crotch to get a footing.

And just when his eyes where nearly level with Mina's snowy pawns, with Reim in constant denial of seeing stars dancing in front of his vision, a sharp crack resounded throughout the crisp air, that made some early songbirds take their hurried leave from the safety of the crooked tree.

Suddenly Reim's foot wasn't caught in the secure grasp of sturdy, roughened wood anymore but suspended in thin air, the gnarled branch that just snapped like a match now making its violent descent in a whirling of slurred shadows about to hit the ground.

“Sharon! Get out of the way!” Though only secured by the tight hold he had on the knag above him, legs frantically searching for a cleft or bump to get a bearing, his first thoughts had concerned Sharon's safety, not his own.

Having dodged the debris easily, she cried out to him in apparent horror.

“It's fine! I'll just have to pull myself up, no need to..” Reim's voice broke off with a yelp of pain. The strained muscles in his shoulders had all of a sudden gone into violent convulsion, cramps wracking his back and he felt his grip on the lifesaving bough slip.  
He tried slinging his legs around the trunk, but to no avail, his mistreated limbs had refused any obedience.  
Adrenalin was coursing nauseatingly through his veins and his pulse drummed a maddening crescendo of “I'm gonna die- I'm gonna die- I'm gonna die!” behind his eyes. Though his arms had gone in a complete rigor, he could feel his biceps shaking on the very last thread of strength.  
There was another pang of raw pain running through his body and than his arms gave out.

 

Break had been strolling around rather aimlessly for the past two hours, carefully avoiding the more populated areas close to the manor, in favor of the quieter run to seed spots somewhere close to the riverbank on the far edge of the estate.  
The constant rain and gloom of the last weeks had made him restless, the empty socket that accompanied his remaining keen wine red eye throbbing dully at ungodly hours in the night.  
A deep ache grinding in his bones sometimes when it stormed filled him with an uncertain foreboding he couldn't quite put a finger on, yet.  
So, when the birdbrained duke came to attend upon Lady Cheryl, once again earlier that day he had fled the house, using a secret passageway concealed by an armor and made his escape to the gardens just in time to catch the first ray of sunlight to paint the listless gray a stunning beryl.  
A warm breeze came from the west and carried a scent of the sea but hidden beneath the sharp pang of salt and tang lay also the promise of daffodils.  
When the warmth descending on him had alleviated the stiffness in his bones somewhat, he idled around the little forest, every once in a while treating himself to some candy while his thoughts went ahead and around in circles. He hadn't even realized that his feet had carried him a good way back towards the manor already, when the panicked cries of Reim, seconds later joined by Sharon's high pitched voice yanked him out of his revery.

And Break found himself running. Worry constricting his throat, heart pounding, he skidded to a halt in the clearing at the very foot of an enormous oak, to find Sharon hysteric and in tears and Reim forty feet above the ground, barely holding on to the tree anymore, with his whole body shaking and convulsing with exhaustion. He felt a cry building in his chest, sheer terror spreading throughout his whole being.  
A rough jerk went through Reim's tense shoulders and suddenly he was falling.

 

Break was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to catch the other the way he would manage with Sharon's petite form, for Reim had already overstepped the threshold of adolescence what with his broadening shoulders and lean built.  
The last traces of boyhood in him were only reminiscent when he was cradled in the tender embraced of sleep and the morning light smoothed his sharpening features with a gentle touch.  
There was no way to simply catch him in his arms like Break would have done several years ago, but he'd be damned, if he wouldn't try anyway. 

 

Reim braced himself for the impact. Praying silently to any deity that might listen, that the ongoing rain had softened the earth enough for the fall not to be fatal.  
A pang of white agony shot through his right leg, when it smashed into a particular thick branch and then he hit the ground.  
There was a sickening thud accompanied by a barely suppressed outcry of pain and Reim found himself cradled by the musk-heavy scent of soil and rain drenched grass.  
Still in a daze and numbly wondering how in all seven hells he wasn't feeling much pain, save for his leg, the smell of vanilla and syrupy tea invaded his senses and all of a sudden he noticed the pair of arms, almost completely hidden in ridiculously wide sleeves, slung around his waist.  
The hold Break had on him tightened for a brief moment and there was the ghost of a whisper next to his ear. Only three words, but to Reim they seemed to convey a lifetime of meaning.

“I've got you!”

Then Break's whole body went limp.  
For a heart stopping moment Reim was sure he had crushed the fragile form and frantically rolled off his savior with a whimper, ready to see blood and protruding bones.  
Instead he found the dark bud of a bruise viciously blooming right next to Break's eye, where Reim's elbow must have made violent contact with his temple and knocked him unconscious.  
His searching hands found a pulse, and though the others breathing seemed labored and his face was taut, there was a steady rhythm of “thum-thump” against his palm.  
Right underneath his fingers, obscured only by the thin layer of fabric that was Break's shirt, an ink black intricate mark tainted the milk pale skin, waiting patiently to be revealed.

It was Sharon's voice that brought Reim to his senses, in a state of absolute horror she asked him if he was alright again and again, if Break was going to die- and oh how her tears spilled over the two of them- until Reim carefully took a hold of her hand.

“It'll be fine!” it was all the reassurance he could muster with his body trembling and voice strained, but when he caressed her strawberry-blond strands gently, the sobs subsided. He carefully tried to pick himself up, but collapsed right back when searing hot pain coursed through his leg once again.  
The angle the limb stood out from underneath him sent waves of nausea through his guts and suddenly his vision blurred.  
Someone frantically called out to him, but his mind was all fuzzy and swimming and the earth seemed to pull him in.  
“Get help!” he moaned before blackness swallowed him whole.

At the end of the day Reim had gotten himself a horribly broken leg, but apart from that he was nearly unhurt.  
Break had managed to protect all the vital parts, after all. But to what expanse...  
The Hatter had suffered a severe concussion, which rendered him unconscious for the next twenty three hours, several broken ribs and an unnervingly large quantity of bruises and contusions all over his body.

It took nearly two months for him to move about with only a manageable amount of pain, whereas Reim's leg sometimes still hurt to the present day, mostly on rainy days in March.

Sharon had cried her eyes out at the sides of both of their sickbeds, feverishly blaming herself for not taking better care of her cat, until both Reim and Break were sick and tired of it and threatened to banish her from their rooms, lest she not stopped. After that she pouted in silence, but held back her tears.  
But from that day on she kept a keen eye on Mina, who wasn't allowed to the gardens ever again, after the poor gardener who had been sent to finally free the kitten from its lofty prison, armed with a ladder and a brailer very nearly had his face clawed off.

Reim had tried expressing his gratitude the moment he was allowed to roam about, but just got cut off brusquely, with Break stating, that him falling to his death would have resulted in Sharon crying even more and neither her Mother nor Grandmother would let him get away with THAT.

Reim just smiled quietly to himself and remembered the erratic heartbeat he had felt against his back, the way Break's arms had tightened protectively around him, even tough it must have hurt like hell, what with all the injuries to his torso, and those three words breathed against his pulse line.  
By the amount of relief they carried, it was entirely possible that they had been more of a reassurance for Break himself than anything else.  
But there had also been a raw emotion resonating in the strained whisper, Reim still didn't thoroughly understand.  
So he mulled those words over and over in his mind for the next ten years, together with the painstaking moment that had his blood running cold, the moment he had thought he'd surely gone and killed off Break.

 

Reim is still in a haze when Xerxes' pale strands ghost past his jawline and envelop him once again in the familiar smell of vanilla and sweet tea, so he almost doesn't catch his falling form.  
Almost.  
For when Break's shoulder collides with the solid wall of Reim's chest, after an eternity played out in air that seemed the consistency of molten lead, his body acts on his own accord.  
His arms wrap around the thin shoulders and waist to finally secure, and hold and protect.  
He is dully aware of being asked if he knew about the seal and what kind of story it conveyed.  
He breathes a stunned “No...” as an answer, wondering briefly if it was even alright for him to know, now.  
But then he set his jaw in determination.  
Maybe this whole ordeal could also mean the beginning of something unspoken, something beautiful and renewed; a future where Break would stop hiding from him and Reim could tear apart those icy walls of silence the other had built around himself.  
All of a sudden he realizes, that the reason his stomach is churning and his mind races a thousand miles per hour doesn't have anything to do with Kevin Legnard but everything with Xerxes Break, who's motionless form is currently only supported by Reim's tight hold. 

For now, that would have to do. For now, Reim would content himself with being able to catch the other should he fall; because he might not understand the White Knight of the Sinclair's and any of the loneliness, despair and ruthlessness that accompanies him, but he does know a little about Break.  
And that is enough for him to cast aside one hundred and sixteen nameless lives and even more months of being kept in the shadows.  
Instead he watches Break's face, still drawn, haunted, and is startled when a red tear silently falls on a marble-cold cheek.  
His head he numbly realizes is throbbing dully and there's a trickle of blood steadily ghosting down his temple. He will need bandaging soon, but for now, Xerxes his more important.

So, when Duke Barma finally shifts his attention to Oz, he carefully lowers both of them to the ground, lips gently brushing the pale temple on which once a tempest-black bruise blossomed, just to tighten his hold for a fleeting moment, and whisper

“I've got you!” 

to the soft skin underneath.  
And he isn't even surprised to find a reverberation of the same still not fully understood undertone in his own voice, that tinges the words with unspoken worry and affection.

Was this what Break had felt at that moment? What had driven him ever since they first laid eyes on him, bloodied and broken on the cold stone floor in front of the Rainsworth's gate?  
Perhaps their bodies had realized a truth hidden deep in their blood long ago and had hence reached out for one another.

A pained shiver runs through his friend, which causes Reim to carefully remove his coat and wrap him up in the soft fabric, briefly marveling about how nicely it managed to cover him whole.

After guiding the frail form down, head securely resting in his lap, Reim's hands busy themselves once again with finding a heartbeat, and though now the twisted mark is obvious under his touch, he finds the rhythm of the pulse unchanged, strong and achingly familiar.

In this moment it dawns on him, that he couldn't care less about Kevin Legnard, for in the chest under his palms beats the heart that's tact he's come to know in and out. It was a sound he could sometimes hear in the dead of night, when rain hits his window pane, intimate and beloved.  
A steady, unwavering drumming in the darkness and it begins to grow on him with a startling clarity, where his own heart might have lain for the better part of his life.


End file.
